Tag Archive for James Preller

There I was lying on the bed on another sticky summer afternoon, examining my reflection in a hand mirror. I pondered the first day of middle school, just four days away, and gazed at my decomposing face.

It wasn’t too bad, considering the fact I was dead. When you took into account that minor detail, and then compared me to all the other dead people in the world, hey, I was doing all right. Better than all right! Go ahead, dig up a grave, stick the corpse into a wicker chair next to me, then compare and contrast. Do a Venn diagram for all I care. I’ll win that beauty contest eight days a week, twice on Sunday.

That’s me, Adrian Lazarus: way hotter than most dead people.

Compared to living folks, the ones who aren’t full-on zombies, maybe I don’t look so great. Mine was a face only a mother could love, though I was beginning to have my doubts about that. After all, how could she? The whole zombie thing had been tough on Mom. She hadn’t bargained for a zombie with bad breath, body odor, and a hunger for braaaaains. Just kidding about the dietary issues. I’m pretty satisfied with an undercooked burger and greasy fries. Never super hungry these days.

A fly touched down on the windowsill near my bare feet. It lifted off again like a barnstorming pilot, performed a few dives, loop-the-loops, and barrel rolls over my exposed flesh. It buzzed my face before squeezing out a hole in the window screen. Probably just an advance scout for the coming swarm. It will tell the other flies they hit the jackpot. That’s one of the downsides of zombie life –- ha, there’s a phrase, zombie life: an oxymoron, like plastic glass and jumbo shrimp and cafeteria food — I attract flies. They follow me in black clouds like I’m the pied piper. Kneel down before me, for I am the true Lord of the Flies!

I was basking in my misery when the door opened. As usual, my little brother Dane was itching to enter my inner sanctum. As if the closed door meant nothing, and the words KEEP OUT! signaled an open invitation. Dane poked his chubby-cheeked, pug-nosed face into the room. His head was seemingly squished from forehead to chin so that it resembled an old, soft orange. To me, Dane’s smooth, dark, elastic cheeks made him look like a living garden gnome, hideous and adorable at the same time.

Dane was four years old. And unlike his big brother, very much alive.

“Hi,” Dane said. “What are you doing?”

I was doing exactly nothing, but I told him I was reading a comic book. A believable lie since I often flipped through comic books and graphic novels. There were a few comics scattered by my pillow. Reading was doing something, a way of being alone and yet totally (amazingly) connected to something other, something else, some far-away place called anywhere but here, which is where I longed to be. Without turning around, I grabbed a comic book and held it up for Dane.

“See,” I said, swiveling my head, back still to him.

“The Sandman,” Dane murmured with awe. He stepped into the room, emboldened. Dane wore red shorts held up by an elastic waistband. He had on his favorite t-shirt –- the one with a picture of the scarecrow from “The Wizard of Oz.” Inspired by his favorite movie character, Dane often stumbled around the house, prat-falling like the boneless, brainless man of straw, wind-milling his stubby arms, humming the tune from the movie. If I only had a brain.

Concern creased Dane’s face. “Can I come in?” he asked, already in.

I shrugged. All I wanted was to be left alone. But Dane needed to be near, I knew that, even a dope like me can see when he’s loved. It’s better than nothing, by a lot.

“Where’s Mom? Yoga class? Work?” I asked.

“She’s on the phone, talking to somebody about periodic rate caps,” Dane explained, without a flicker of comprehension as to what he was saying. He could join the club. I didn’t know what periodic rate caps were either. That was Mom’s work. Flipping houses, skimming a percentage off the top, moving on like a shark in bloody waters. Buying and selling.

After my father went overseas with Corporate to fight in the Water Wars, and kept re-enlisting, Mom reinvented herself. Today she’s a successful real estate agent. I couldn’t walk three blocks in town without her face beaming out from a FOR SALE sign. “Rosie Lazarus, an agent you can trust.”

Dane reached into his pocket and produced two sour apple candies. My little brother knew the way to my heart — through the gap in my rotten teeth and down into the cavities. He offered both to me.

I took one, told him to keep one for himself, pulled on the twisted ends of the crinkly wrapper, and popped the hard candy into my mouth. I grunted thanks and returned to my horrible mirror.

“I might run away,” I sighed. I could see Dane standing behind me now, reflected in the mirror, pressing closer. I felt his sticky fingers on my back, heard the hard candy rattling against his teeth.

“Don’t go to California, it’s on fire,” Dane said.

“Not all of it,” I said. After years of draught, the wildfires had started up and kept spreading. Nobody was running away to California anymore.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. Dane considered the news in silence. “Can I have your room?”

“Dane!”

His head pivoted on his shoulders as he eyed the walls and sloped ceiling, redecorating in his imagination. He’d probably fill it with Legos. Dane caught my eye in the mirror’s reflection. “Mom would be mad if you ran away.”

Maybe mad, I thought. Or relieved. “You hungry?”

The sweet boy with fat cheeks and loose curls nodded, yes, he was hungry. Dane was always hungry.

I sat up and put my feet on the carpet for the first time in hours. My toes were numb, like dull weights, lead sinkers on a fishing line. No nerve endings. I could take an axe and chop them off, from big toe to little toe, and never feel a thing. Pop ‘em off like grapes from the stem.

Dane took my cold, clammy hand. “Come,” he said, and tugged, dragging me from my dark room into the light.

Better Off Undead will be published in October, 2017 by Macmillan. Grades 4-8, 275 pages.

I am impressed that you belong to a writing club at such a young age. When I was going into 3rd grade, my big life ambition was to see how many marshmallows I could cram into my mouth. I didn’t even begin to form the faintest dream of becoming an author until high school. But I did write, and really that’s where we all begin. With pen in hand, staring at that blank page.

So you are way ahead of me.

Sure, yes, please send along a manuscript. I’d love to read it. That said, please know that my belief is that the best thing you can do at this point is to write and read –- often, and widely –- rather than focus on publication. Enjoy yourself, follow your enthusiasms, have fun with it

Joey and Danika visit Jigsaw’s house in THE CASE FROM OUTER SPACE. This wonderful illustration is by R.W. Alley.

There is a new Jigsaw Jones book coming out this August 8th, The Case from Outer Space, along with four other titles. By November, there will be 8 “classroom classics” available for the first time in years –- previously published, newly revised and updated, all from Macmillan. Ask for them at your local bookstore.

I’m always glad to hear from my friends in Texas. I’ve wanted to get invited to visit schools in TX for years. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m not giving up hope!

Oh, and thanks for the SASE. I’ll save it for next time you write. I am sending along two posters, one for you and one for the kind teacher who hosts your writing club.

This one included a kind teacher as an intermediary, helping a student make a connection. We ended up shooting a few emails back and forth, but I didn’t post those here. Stacey wrote:

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I have a letter I would like you to read and hopefully write back to this young man. Thank you for your consideration.

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I replied:

Dear Collin,

I hope I got that name correct.

First of all, my gosh, I love that you live in Osh Kosh.

What a name!

I’ve heard of it all my life, but you are the first person I’ve ever “met” who actually lives there. Are you a big Packers fan?

Thank you for reading The Case of the Stolen Baseball Cards. I’m glad you liked it. Usually it takes me two months to write a Jigsaw Jones book. The first month, I bang my head against the wall, hoping to find ideas. Guess what I’ve learned? There are no ideas in the wall.

Eventually I get down to work. I get my butt in the chair, open to a clean page, and start to write. That’s the trick, mostly. Getting in that chair, getting away from all the distractions — the tv, my cell phone, the dog, my children, and a million other things — and writing.

I just wrote the 41st Jigsaw Jones book, titled The Case from Outer Space. It is coming out in August, along with four other “classic” titles that have been hard to find the past few years. Jigsaw Jones is back! By November, there will be 9 Jigsaw Jones books available in stores. I’m super happy about that — and I know that it couldn’t have happened with readers like you.

And, yes, I depend on teachers like Ms. ______, too!

BTW, I live pretty far away from you, in a town called Delmar, NY, just south of Albany. I’d love for you to visit if you are ever in the neighborhood. Though I am concerned that the brownies might get stale.

Like everybody else on the planet, the millions and millions, I was captivated by Susan Wood’s brilliant picture-book biography of the composer, Esquivel! It’s bubbly and effervescent — whee-doop-di-doop! — well-researched and beautifully illustrated. A buoyant introduction to a singular artist. I was glad when Susan agreed to this interview.

So one day you wake up and think: Esquivel! I want to write a book about him! Is that how it works?

Well, um, not quite! Over a few decades, I’ve written a lot about music, both as a journalist and an author of books for adults and children. My earlier music-related books for young readers were a blast to put together and pretty well received—the middle-grade Raggin’ Jazzin’ Rockin’: A History of American Musical Instrument Makers (Boyds Mills) was an ALA Notable, and Rock ‘n’ Roll Soldier (HarperTeen), a YA memoir I cowrote with Vietnam vet Dean Ellis Kohler, with a foreword by Graham Nash, was a CCBC Choice. So I was definitely itching to write another music book for the youth market.

I’d also done a deep dive into the picture book format with Under the Freedom Tree (Charlesbridge), illustrated by the wonderful London Ladd. For that book, London and I visited locations together and shared ideas, and I got to see firsthand how an illustrator works. [Ed note: for a “5 Questions interview with London Ladd, click here.] Through that rich collaborative process I became (and remain) obsessed with the visual aspect of penning a great story. I thought about music makers whose work has kind of a “visual” feel to it, a sound that could be depicted in illustration. Esquivel, with all of his zany instrumentation and textural arrangements, came quickly to mind. The music is so fun, so evocative — I thought kids would dig it, even if they hadn’t a clue who the guy was. Honestly, I didn’t know much about Esquivel beyond the music; luckily, he led an intriguing life that could be shaped into a kid-friendly story arc.

It feels like we’re living in the golden age of picture book biographies. We are seeing deeper, wider, more diverse “mini” biographies coming out each year. Would you agree with that?

Absolutely. And I couldn’t be more thrilled, because biography/memoir is totally my thing. I’m always curious about what makes people tick, why people do what they do, how they navigate their lives — I’ve written/co-written bios/memoirs of rock ‘n’ roll trailblazers Gene “Be-Bop-A-Lula” Vincent (Race with the Devil, St. Martin’s) and Eddie “Summertime Blues” Cochran (Three Steps to Heaven, with Bobby Cochran, Hal Leonard) and rock photographer Tom Wright (Rock & Roll Turned Inside Out, foreword by Pete Townshend, Hal Leonard), and my picture book bio of artist Grant Wood (American Gothic, illustrated by Ross MacDonald, Abrams) comes out this fall. My PB biography of another painter is currently making the editorial rounds, and I’ve got a long list of other interesting folks whose stories I’d love to tell in the picture book format.

I find writing picture book biographies far more challenging than penning bios for the adult market. You’ve got to distill a pretty full sweep of a person’s life into just a few pages. So every word’s gotta count!

I imagine you begin by reading everything. It must be easy to become overwhelmed by the material. This guy had an entire life and you have less than 32 pages.

Yes, I read as much as I can find and track down as many primary sources as possible—print and broadcast interviews, letters, documents, photos, articles, and such. At some point in my research, I’ll notice patterns, or themes, or how events build upon each other, and then I know it’s time to start writing. I can tease out those things, piece them together, move them around and shape and polish, and if I’m lucky, a compelling story will emerge. All the while, I’m keeping the visual component in mind—are there enough illustration opportunities in this tale?

Do you ever feel like you can’t do it?

Oh yeah. That’s when I close the file and go work on something else. Let it percolate on the back burner while I go about other business. Inevitably, as I’m walking the dog or doing dishes or driving my daughter to the ballet studio or my son to a robotics competition, I’ll usually have some kind of epiphany about how to move forward. Sometimes it takes days; sometimes it takes months. With Under the Freedom Tree, it took a few years to figure out how to tell the story of the first contraband slaves of the Civil War — as a picture book in free verse!

Because: obviously! Let’s see, I think we’re about the same age. Like you, I became aware of Esquivel’s music in the ‘90s when the lounge music thing was blowing up.

Back in the ‘90s I was working as an arts and entertainment correspondent for the big daily newspaper in southeastern Virginia, and record companies would send me their new releases for review. I remember receiving an Esquivel reissue, popping the CD in, and being completely blown away. What was this?! Way too clever, whimsical, and well crafted to be cheesy Muzak, yet super easy to listen and zone out to. Really genius.

The acid test for any book about music is whether it sends a reader back to the records. And you achieved that. I’ve been listening to Esquivel all week.

I’m so glad! It’s such brilliant stuff, isn’t it? And now thanks to YouTube and other sites, anyone can listen. And watch! Have you seen those amazing old Ernie Kovacs videos, kitchen appliances and office furniture dancing to Esquivel? So fun.

Music has always been important to you.

Music’s a huge part of my life. When I was a kid, my mom was a piano teacher, organist, and choir director, and my dad sang in her choirs. Of course, I did the requisite piano lessons, but also played clarinet and bassoon in school band and orchestra. Two of my brothers play drums, and my other brother is a professional guitarist. So lots of music going on at our house growing up! Though I graduated from NYU film school, it was an internship at Island Records—helping to create press releases for their smaller boutique labels—that really got me interested in writing about music, not just listening to or playing it. My first “real” job was at a NYC PR firm that handled music clients exclusively; when I left super-expensive NYC to return home to Virginia, I became a music journalist, writing for newspapers and magazines. Eventually I turned an article I wrote about ‘50s singer Gene Vincent into a book proposal, St. Martin’s Press bought it, and my first book was published in 2000.

When I was in college and beyond, I enjoyed a long correspondence with an American poet named Kenneth Irby. He sent me great letters and was always encouraging about my lousy poems. What he said, over and over again, was “follow your enthusiasms.” And I’ve always held that as a central tenet to my writing. Trust in those things that quicken your heart. It seems to me that you are doing the same thing.

That’s great advice. Reminds me of the words of wisdom a respected kidlit editor gave a writer friend of mine when she was struggling with what project to tackle next. “What do you love? What do you want to be known for writing?” the editor asked her, and I think about that every time I’m contemplating the next book. For me, it’s almost always music and art—visual arts, performing arts—usually in bio form. I want to be that “musicians and artists” chick.

You’ve said that Esquivel’s music creates pictures in your head. But in the book-making process, your job as the writer was to use words to create pictures in the head of the reader, and, significantly, in the illustrator’s head, too. You wrote, for example, “It sounded like a crazy rocket ride zigzagging through outer space!” I loved how you attempted to match in language the music that you heard.

Thank you! Fortunately, Esquivel and his various record companies gave me plenty of hints, with album titles like Other Worlds, Other Sounds; Infinity in Sound; and Space-Age Bachelor Pad Music. Esquivel liked to use vocals as instrumentation too, replacing familiar lyrics with (often nonsensical) sounds like “zu-zu-pow!” I had fun trying to come up with written representations of the sounds of different instruments — how would you describe what a rumbling tympani drum or blaring trumpet actually sounds like? My terrific editor at Charlesbridge, Yolanda Scott, is a singer — in an amazing coincidence, with the world’s only orchestra devoted to Esquivel’s music, Mr. Ho’s Orchestrotica — so she was helpful with this, particularly for some of the more obscure instruments such as the boobams. (Just looked back at some of our e-mail exchanges and cracked up. Yolanda: ISSUE #4: sound of boobams (pp. 14-15) I think we need to get rid of the “Beeda” and replace with another syllable. I agree that “eee” doesn’t sound drummy. Me: Does BUMPA-DUMPA-BOODA-BUM sound drummy enough?)

Ha, that’s hysterical. When it comes to inventing words to match sound effects, I always think of Don Martin from Mad magazine as the absolute master. Pffft-Frack! He’s a favorite of mine.

Did you know the work of illustrator Duncan Tonatiuh before this book?

No, I wasn’t familiar with Duncan. When Yolanda let me know who they had in mind to illustrate, I went right to Duncan’s website and was delighted. He was the perfect choice for this project! I’m thrilled that with Esquivel! he’s racked up yet another Pura Belpré Honor award. The books he’s written and illustrated are all so beautiful. Plus, he’s a genuinely nice guy.

Describe your feelings on the day you first saw the illustrations.

Seeing the finished art is one of the very best parts of the picture book process. You know the story, you’ve seen the sketches, but nothing compares with the final artwork in all its gorgeous glory. It’s always exciting to see an artist’s interpretation of your words; often it’s far beyond what you’d even imagined! I especially love how Duncan got the groovy late ‘50s/early ‘60s fashions and aesthetic in there while still being true to his style based on ancient Mexican art.

Just to clear something up for me: You used to write under the name Susan VanHecke. Is that over? Are you working your way through the alphabet: V-W-X?

Ha! A few years back, I was reading the memoir Joey Ramone’s brother wrote about their relationship, and I was struck by how this tall, pale, gangly kid named Jeff Hyman—just ruthlessly bullied for the way he looked and for his OCD—made a completely fresh start for himself by changing his name to Joey Ramone. I’d always been teased about my maiden name, and the married name, which I’d never been fond of and everyone always mispronounced and misspelled, was never mine in the first place. Since I was making fresh starts in several areas of my life, a name change just felt right. So I took my cue from sweet Joey Ramone (gabba gabba hey!), and the easy-to-say, easy-to-spell Susan Wood it is. There may or may not be a smidge of patriarchy-smashing buried somewhere in there too…

What’s next, Susan? Do you have plans for a new book?

Let’s see. My picture book about a daring wildlife relocation by parachute, The Skydiving Beavers: A True Tale (Sleeping Bear), publishes April 15, and American Gothic in September. I need to confirm with the publisher, but I think my Little Red Hen retelling with a Mexican twist comes out in 2018, as does another picture book biography (nonmusic) that I can’t really talk about yet.

Any candidates for another music biography?

I’m working on a proposal with Albert Glinsky to adapt his definitive biography for adults of Russian musician, inventor, and spy Leon Theremin — yeah, that theremin — into a YA. And I have a few other ideas for music biographies, both YA and PB. So many musicians I’d love to write about! I’m also a professional copyeditor specializing in music texts, so when I’m not sweating over my own stuff, I live vicariously editing other authors’ music-related work.

Thanks for stopping by, Susan. Hopefully we get to hang out someday.

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SUSAN WOOD keeps a swanky website that you can easily find, so I’m not going to provide a link. Do it yourself, people. Leave me alone. I’m not your slave. And get off the damn lawn, I just seeded.

I suppose it’s true of most authors, but it seems especially true of Robin Pulver. She’s a lot like her books: Funny, warm, inclusive, smart — and a little silly too. Today we talk about the latest in her “Language Arts Library” series, and William Steig, and Mrs. Toggle, and the hurt of going out of print, and more.

Robin, thanks for coming by. Normally I like to keep the “5 Questions” series focused on one title –- so we’ll spend time on Me First: Prefixes Lead the Way from your “Language Arts Library” series. But I also want to learn a little bit more about you in general. Sound good? I wonder: When did you first dream of becoming a writer?

I never dreamed of becoming a writer. In 8th grade, I had to write an autobiography. The story of my 13 years was LOOOOONG, because I liked to write. At the end, I was supposed to tell my ambition (i.e. dream?), so I said “art teacher,” because I loved art class. I still do love art, so now it seems miraculous to me that my love of writing somehow led to writing picture book stories that are illustrated by great artists. My being an author evolved from liking to write, studying journalism in grad school, then realizing my personality wasn’t right for the kind of investigative journalism I admire, writing a couple of newspaper columns, doing public relations for an insurance company, studying fiction writing for adults, selling some short stories, reading to my kids, loving the books, writing for children’s magazines, and then selling one of my intended magazine stories as a book: Mrs. Toggle’s Zipper!

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That unlikely progression actually makes sense. There’s continuity to it. It’s like sailing. You don’t get there in a straight line. On your website, you tell a wonderful story about a day in your third-grade classroom.

Yes! A formative moment, when I look back. I had a third-grade teacher I adored. She was only 19. Miss Hamrick. One day she sent me to the back of the room to write a story. No regular school work! I wrote “The Flowers that Talked” and at the end of the day read it aloud to my classmates. (Never since have I been able to write a story in one day!) Maybe that was early prep for an author visit to a school.

Good old Miss Hamrick. God bless the teachers who recognize our strengths and say, “I believe in you.” Robin, I became a fan after your first book, Mrs. Toggle’s Zipper. She’s a kind, warm-hearted elementary school teacher who gets trapped inside her “big, puffy, fuchsia-colored” winter coat. The feeling of community in that school comes through loud and clear.

The story was inspired when my daughter’s zipper got stuck at school, and the nurse called me to say they were going to have to cut the coat off, so I should bring another coat for her to wear home that day. I wrote about a teacher’s coat because I thought kids would find that funnier. I used the word “fuschia,” because I liked the sound of it, not being sure what color that was! Recently, when I re-read “The Flowers that Talked,” (Mom saved it), the community of flowers reminded me of Mrs. Toggle’s classroom. Makes me wonder about my versatility! But I do have a basic belief that “it takes a village to raise a child,” and the school and classroom qualify as communities.

Mrs. Toggle is such a lovely character. And a great teacher. All four of the “Mrs. Toggle” books are warm, full of gentle wit and kindness, wonderfully illustrated by our mutual friend, R.W. Alley. I hope you are enormously proud of those books, they are an absolute triumph.

That is so nice of you to say. SO NICE.

It’s only the truth.

A teacher once told me that no teachers would like the Mrs. Toggle books. “They’re too sarcastic. The only smart person in them is the custodian. I decided you must be married to a custodian!” (I’m not. He’s an allergist.) He said that at one of my first school visits in a lunchroom full of guests! Funny, how those criticisms stay with a person, even though the book did so well. So, again, thank you!

You experienced a professional writer’s full journey with that series. The books enjoyed great success –- well reviewed, embraced by classroom teachers, beloved by countless readers. And then, over time, you had the painful experience of watching them go out of print. I know how that feels. It’s not death, exactly, but there’s definitely a sense of loss.

It’s hard! At book festivals and signings, I hear, “Mrs. Toggle is my favorite!” (One teacher even told me that her daughter named her blanket “Mrs. Toggle.”) And yet, those books have long been out of print, and the original publisher exists no more. Bob Alley has indicated that he’d love to re-illustrate them in his updated style (which is wonderful! See Mrs. Toggle’s Class Picture Day and Saturday Is Dadurday). Wouldn’t it be nice to have a 30th anniversary edition of Mrs. Toggle’s Zipper? I know that a lot of adult teachers loved Mrs. Toggle when they were children. Now I’m whining. Sorry.

No need to apologize, I opened that door and I appreciate your honesty. We like to think of a book -– a good book -– as something that will endure. Not immortality perhaps, but something that lasts. It’s painful to learn that it’s not generally true except in the rarest of circumstances.

And the older I get, the more I realize that’s true. One of my favorites, Alicia’s Tutu, was out of print after 6 months.

Heartbreaking. I’ve been there. You look at your life’s work, your accomplishments, and poof. Like it never happened. Now it’s my turn to apologize for whining.

It’s confidence shaking and demoralizing, isn’t it, after so much trying, waiting, revising, finally getting a book accepted and waiting for it to come out. Then, as you say, poof!

Let’s shift gears. Rereading your “Mrs. Toggle” books, I was struck by the amount of story, the pure word count. Over the years, we’ve seen the picture book market get younger and younger. We don’t see many with a lot of words anymore. The emphasis has shifted decidedly to the pictures. Do you find that to be true in your experience?

Might this have to do with shortening attention spans in all ages? Including parents? But I’ve heard that there’s movement toward longer-text books again. I hope so. While I greatly admire authors who can write in such spare text, often way under 500 words, my natural word count seems to be 1000-1250 words. Hey, picture books are for all ages. Often these books use challenging vocabulary, and younger kids absorb that during read-alouds (an adult reading to a child inspires the child to learn to read herself). Older children — adults too — enjoy the story and the fine art in a good picture book.

I sometimes wonder what would happen to William Steig today? I mean, I’m sure he’d triumph in any era, but I wonder if the response from editors might be, “too many words.”

Oh, I love that you wonder that! William Steig was my first inspiration. Amos and Boris! The characters! The fantastic vocabulary! I bought that book for myself before I ever “dreamed” of writing books for children or had children of my own. (I learned from your pal, Matthew Cordell, that Amos and Boris was his early inspiration as well.)

Steig was amazing. He published his first children’s book at age 60. You got an earlier start. Then about 15 years ago, you hit upon an idea to write a story about punctuation, titled Punctuation Takes a Vacation. And now here we are here, celebrating the sixth title in the “Language Arts Library,” Me First. These books are about grammar, yes, but each one is playful, exuberant, and even a little wacky. How do you make a book about prefixes so lively and lighthearted? Where do you even begin?

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It took me three intense years to write Punctuation Takes a Vacation. A huge stack of attempts and fumbling approaches. (I persisted!) When I told my editor, she said, “It’s so light-hearted, I thought you wrote it in a day.” NO. They’ve all been a struggle for me.

Whenever an author talks about how a book “wrote itself,” I want to scream. My books don’t ever write themselves. I do all the work!

I keep at it because I love language and word usage. For Me First!, I did tons of research. Not only about prefixes, and what prefixes are taught at what level, and how they’re taught, but also about Abraham Lincoln, to find appropriate nuggets to use from his life. (I HAD to use the fact that he stored reminders to himself in his stovepipe hat.) When I learned that Leadership Day is observed in schools, I felt I’d found the connection to make between prefixes and the qualities that made Lincoln a great leader. Then I set out to write a story using lots of words with prefixes! I hope these books share my love of language with kids.

What’s your relationship with illustrator Lynn Rowe Reed? It must have evolved over the years. At what point is she brought into the process?

We have a strong on-line friendship, but I’ve only met her once, when we presented together at a conference. She waits ever so patiently (well, not really, she spurs me on!) for me to come up with a story and gets to work on it once it’s been revised and edited. Her illustrations are bold and lively and colorful. They’re the reason I’ve been told that toddlers love these books and carry them around! The first editor who rejected Punctuation Takes a Vacation said, ”Who on earth could illustrate this?” Luckily Lynn could.

Yes, Lynn does a rather incredible job with those books. Her sense of playfulness is a big part of the overall appeal.

Which is another reason kids of all ages enjoy these books. They’re used in nursery schools and all the way through college.

I understand that you meet with a writer’s group. Tell us a little bit about that, why you like it, how it works, and so on.

The writers’ group I’m in now has lasted for 20 years, with some comings and goings. Shall I name names? Bruce Coville, Kathy Coville, Vivian Vande Velde, Ellen Stoll Walsh, MJ Auch, Patience Brewster, and Cynthia DeFelice. (We meet once a month, centrally at Cynthia’s home.) Our relationships are deep, supportive, and inspiring. We read from our work aloud and then critique (usually going around the room). I spend each meeting wondering how I got so lucky and privileged to hear their works in progress. There is all kinds of hilarity as well.

Thanks for coming over today, Robin. You just made a rough year a little kinder, a little softer. Keep up the great work!

Jigsaw flashes his business card. “Wowee zowee.” Maybe not as beautiful as the real Mrs. Pulver, but hopefully a fair approximation of her kindness and spirit.

It was fun to think about these kind and thoughtful questions. Thanks so much, Jimmy. I look forward to seeing you again and to reading your next books (including the one I have a special interest in, Jigsaw Jones: The Case from Outer Space).

Yes, I modeled a secondary character after you, the charming “Mrs. Pulver.” Jigsaw questions her as a witness in a case that concerns her Little Free Library. She’s lovely and kind, just like you, and I was glad to sneak that sly tribute into my book.

ROBIN PULVER is the author of many wonderful books including Thank You, Miss Doover; Axle Annie, and Saturday Is Dadurday, and many more.